I am a bad person. I am a very, very horrible person. I haven't updated in fucking MONTHS, and that is because I haven't written anything. What I have been doing is a little thing called doing nothing. Actually, I've also been completely obsessed with THROAM, which has taken up a long period of my time. (If you haven't read it and you like Panic! fics READ IT NOW. YOUR LIFE WILL BE SO MUCH BETTER FOR IT. I cried when I finished it, like legit.

What I have been writing, when I've bothered to, is a new fic I have thought up recently. I don't know when I will update the first chapter, but let me tell yOu, IT IS AWESOME. I want it to be completely perfect, so it will probably be a while until I post it. But that is what is happening in the future around fearsgottahold's profile! Title by FOB, AWESOME ALBUM. That is all.

Enjoy this chapter, and I'm sorry again for being so late and not reading any of your fics and reviewing and generally abusing my right to having a ficwad profile.

Ryan spent the rest of the evening in his room, ignoring his mothers’ attempts to try and get him to eat something. What Ryan’s parents didn’t understand was that if Ryan didn’t want something he really didn’t want it. Then again, Ryan’s parents had never been too good at understanding their son.

Ryan didn’t really consider himself to be a Ross. He looked like his parents, sure, but he interacted with them almost none at all. It was like there was a huge divide down the middle of the house, separating his room from the rest of the building. He couldn’t wait for the day when he finished school and could finally get the fuck out of Vegas, leave and never come back. Ryan wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with his life once he left home, but he knew that he was going whether he was ready or not.

Since his father was most probably passed out on the couch; and his mother never wanted to intrude in Ryan’s personal space, no matter how loud the racket he made was; Ryan went to his cupboard and took out the case. Inside it contained Ryan’s one friend who had seen him through it all. Without the guitar, Ryan was pretty sure he would have been dead.

It wasn’t so much having the physical piece of equipment around, it was more the fact that Ryan could vent any form of feeling that he had in guitar riffs and ingrained song lyrics. What Ryan would do, if he wasn’t working or reading, it was writing.

Ryan loved to write, for the same reasons he loved to read. He got lost in the rhyming couplets, the ironic metaphors, the feel of the words in his ears. He loved to create the songs, going over the pencil in his notebook again and again, until each line was completely perfect. Ryan was a perfectionist, and he knew it. He had written so many songs, some no more than half finished verses, or a scattered lyric that made no sense with anything else he had thought up. Writing was what he lived for, and he hoped that as soon as he left his shithole of a home, he would continue to create.

Ryan couldn’t imagine doing anything else with himself, if he was honest.

His parents always expected him to go to a university on scholarship, get a diploma in something boring and useful, like business or law, and then live happy families with a girl he would meet while he was studying. Ryan detested the idea; he couldn’t imagine doing anything worse. Sure, that career path might be successful, but it would also suck the very life out of Ryan until he was nothing left but a shell, repeating each day after monotonous day until he died. Ryan had considered looking up about setting up a band, but no-one wanted to play with him, or play the things he wanted to. Plus, he wouldn’t just show his lyrics to anyone. They had to be close to him.

And therein lay Ryan’s biggest problem. Ryan didn’t have anyone he was close to. No-one ever said Ryan and blah. No-one really said Ryan’s name at all. Ryan was pretty invisible.

Ryan had a habit of staying up really late without meaning to. Like he would be writing one second and the next he only had two hours until he had to get up for school. He wasn’t entirely sure how things happened like that, but they just did. It had happened to him tonight. He was now sitting up in his bed, at half two in the morning, entirely sure it had been half ten one minute ago. He had some fairly decent lyrics, but he wasn’t the best critic. He probably should show someone else if he really wanted a good opinion, but he had no-one to ask. And he was fairly sure it was too early in Spencer and his convoluted relationship to ask him to have a look.

Ryan sighed, set the notebook under his pillow, and turned off the light.

He didn’t really sleep that night.

He didn’t sleep at all.

The next morning Ryan dragged himself out of bed with his eyes feeling like they had been scratched out with sand paper. He stumbled across the hallway to the bathroom, and just sat on the toilet for a second; carding his hand through his hair in an attempt to make sure he didn’t fall asleep in the bathroom. He haphazardly turned on the shower and stepped in, immediately luxuriating in the warm spray. The feeling of massaging the shampoo into his hair was enough to relax Ryan, and help him to feel slightly more human. By the time Ryan had stepped out of the shower and brushed his teeth, he almost felt good enough to actually go to school.

He got dressed slowly, not paying attention to what he was putting on. He then made his way downstairs and said a half-hearted goodbye to his mother; at least he thought he had.

What Ryan didn’t know was that his mum had left the house that night, and had absolutely no intention of returning.

Ryan grabbed his school bag and unlocked the front door, shutting it quietly behind him. He didn’t want to wake his father, not when he would have a banging headache- the hangover making itself known.

Ryan arrived at school five minutes late, but he didn’t really care. He walked slowly, revelling at the cool breeze that seemed to permeate Las Vegas lately. The city in which he lived was situated in a desert, so Ryan really didn’t understand why it was so cold all of a sudden. Sure, it was winter, but he was pretty sure that it hadn't been this cold before. His long sleeved t-shirt actually was needed.

Ryan wasn’t sure if the cold weather was an omen for something or not.

Ryan passed the gates and the hardcore smokers, itching for a drag himself, and made his way into the form room, head ducked down as he made his was to the back as inconspicuously as possible. He didn’t want to be here, he never did. All the people in the school did was insult hi and make him feel about the same worthiness as pond scum. He was sick of it.

Sick of it.

Ryan wasn’t paying any real attention to what was going on around him when the register was called. He found that if he listened all he would hear was scathing comments directed at him. He wasn’t sure why they bothered. His self esteem was as low as it could be. Ryan dug out his notebook, the one he carried around with him always. Even at work. Patrick, his boss, had seen it, but when Ryan tired to apologize for having it with him the short man just laughed and brushed it off.

Ryan was forever grateful of Patrick.

Ryan was still hunched down in his chair, still re-reading the lyric he had come up with last night. You may be the puppeteer, but you’ll never control these strings of mine. He wasn’t sure if it was a necessarily accurate lyric, people constantly controlled him. Anyway, he was too preoccupied in his little fantasy world to hear the door open and close quietly.

“Hey. Err… I’m new here?” Ryan’s head shot up at the sound of the young man’s voice.

Miss White looked up tiredly. “Yes, I know. Are you Spencer Smith?” Spencer nodded. “Sit down then.” Spencer did as he was instructed, his eyes lighting across the room until he saw Ryan’s face. His own face brightened, and he shifted his bag further up his shoulder, making his way through the desks to sit by Ryan. Internally, Ryan winced. What Spencer didn’t know was that he had just unknowingly condemned himself to a school career that sucked. Ryan was perfectly fine with not having friends, or being ridiculed. But he didn’t want to bring anyone down with him.

“Hey! Hey Ryan! Wow, you're in my class? That’s totally awesome!” Spencer’s enthusiasm made it completely obvious to everyone around them that Spencer and Ryan knew each other. Already whispers were starting up in the room. That weird guy knows Ryan? I thought Ryan had no friends! What's going on?

Ryan didn’t want to bring Spencer down. That was all.

Instead he hunched over further, making no sign of having heard Spencer or not, although he definitely had. Spencer looked upset for a moment, before his face became one of concern.

“Is everything okay?” He asked; voice full of emotion. “This isn’t because of your dad or anything because, man, I was so worried abo-”

“Shut up!” Ryan hissed; terrified that people would hear what Spencer was talking about. There were enough rumours about him already, he didn’t need any more. Why the fuck did Spencer have to come to this school, this class?

Because Ryan never got it easy, that was why.

Spencer’s face looked so hurt, shock and bewilderment flashing across his features in a way that made Ryan feel almost bad about what he had said. But it was for Spencer’s own good.

Ryan bent over his book even further, completely blocking Spencer from his view. He didn’t want to look Spencer in the eye. Ryan had done enough harm.

The bell rang, cutting off any attempt Spencer could have made for conversation. Immediately Ryan shut his notebook and shoved it in his bag, rising from his hard, moulded plastic seat to exit the room for first class. He didn’t look back.

*

Ryan spent lunch alone, as usual. He had bought a soggy, wilting sandwich from the canteen earlier, on account of not eating since lunch the day before, but the food looked so disgusting; he was just picking apart the limp slices of bread and nibbling on the cold chicken that constituted as the filling. He was eating outside, and he was sort of regretting it, because the cold seemed even worse than it had earlier. However, he didn’t want to go inside and be made fun of by the other students. He would rather be cold and invisible, anytime.

He had seen Spencer earlier; talking animatedly to a pretty girl Ryan was sure was in the year above. Ryan almost felt like a proud parent, seeing the boy make a friend.

Ryan felt happy for him. He had done the right thing after all.

It was a shame the ‘right thing’ made Ryan feel even worse than he already did.